Chapter 28 #2
Callum didn’t even dignify that question with an answer. Of course, he could best him.
But just as he made to attack once more, Laird Barclay whistled loudly. Before Callum knew it, four more men appeared, instantly overpowering him.
He swallowed past a dry throat, his gaze flitting around to check if any of his men were there, ready to jump into action. But his clan was already overpowered, many of his men having to fight two or three of Barclay’s men at once.
There was no one left to fight alongside him. Even Hudson, who had always been his partner on the battlefield, was now inside the keep, keeping the women safe.
Callum returned his gaze to Laird Barclay just as his four lackeys came at him all at once.
He dropped his shoulders, tackling the first man who reached him—a younger man, small but lithe, who moved with remarkable speed.
But his movements were predictable, and his speed was no match for Callum’s strength.
With a swing of his sword, Callum pierced through the young man’s stomach before the others had even managed to reach him, then dropped him to the ground.
And then, just as he turned to face the other three, the one closest to him was suddenly struck by an arrow that flew toward him with frightening speed.
The other two men immediately skidded to a stop. They spun around, searching for the shooter, and so did Callum. It took him a few moments, as he was searching for a man with a bow. But what he should have been searching for was a woman.
Rhea stood above, having climbed up the curtain walls. Half her body was dangling from the large embrasure nearest to them, providing her with a straight line to her targets, and the bow in her hand was pulled taut, ready to fire again.
Callum let out a disbelieving laugh, as delighted as he was astonished to see her there.
She had chosen a good spot. It would be almost impossible for Barclay’s men to reach that embrasure and capture her.
She was safe there, protected as much from the men as from the arrows that some of them might loose.
He couldn’t help but be impressed with her quick thinking and aim.
Now there were only two men he had to dispatch, and then he could finally get to Laird Barclay.
He turned to the larger man, taking him on as the other tried to shield himself from the rain of arrows that Rhea had unleashed on him. They flew past Callum, threatening to hit him at any moment, but he could not afford to shift his attention away from the soldier.
The soldier charged at him, their blades clashing just as Laird Barclay approached.
It was only natural that Laird Barclay would attack at the same time. The man wanted him dead no matter what it took; he didn’t care about honor. And yet Callum fought them both at the same time, twisting to push them off, to keep their blades from cutting him, to keep them from getting too close.
First, he parried the soldier’s blow, then turned to deliver one of his own to Laird Barclay, who only just managed to jump back as Callum brought his sword down in an arc.
When the soldier attacked again, Callum side-stepped him and pivoted to attack him from behind, only for Laird Barclay to stop him by parrying with a swift swing of his blade.
Pain exploded in his shoulder, searing and spreading down his arm, and Callum soon realized that the soldier had managed to wound him when he was too occupied with Laird Barclay.
With the pain throbbing through him and nothing but the thrill of the fight keeping him from dropping his sword, he pushed the soldier back, gaining some precious seconds to parry Laird Barclay’s next blow.
But when the soldier recovered, he threw himself back into the fight, and he and Laird Barclay attacked him at the same time.
Callum ducked, avoiding the soldier’s blade, but just as he stood back up, Laird Barclay drove the hilt of his sword into his ribs. It knocked the breath out of his lungs, a bone-rattling cough racking through him.
A grunt sounded nearby, and Callum saw the third man fall to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest. It was all the distraction he needed to swiftly dispatch the larger soldier, bringing his sword down to drive it through his stomach.
Then, there was only Laird Barclay.
The two men stood across from each other, both panting, nothing but smoke and dust between them.
The taste of ash and blood coated Callum’s tongue as he stared at the bastard, his sword heavy in his hand.
Each breath burned his lungs. Each step felt as if the earth itself was dragging him down. But he was not yet finished.
He would not rest until Laird Barclay was dead.
The two men lunged at each other, meeting in the middle. Their shouts echoed in the courtyard around them, followed by the clash of their swords. Callum had to end this quickly. He had to kill him and get it over with. He swung his sword hard and fast, each movement bringing him closer to the man.
Without his minions there, Laird Barclay had a hard time defending himself, and it didn’t take Callum long to deliver the first wound.
As Laird Barclay was leaning back, Callum’s sword caught his forearm, leaving behind a deep gash that startled the man, as if he hadn’t expected to be hurt like this.
Callum lunged at him again, and the man tried to parry, only partially managing to push Callum back before he attacked again, determined not to give him time to react.
Finding an opening, Callum drove his sword through Laird Barclay’s stomach with a roar.
Laird Barclay’s eyes widened in shock, his hand coming up to clutch Callum’s blade, his blood dripping onto the ground like a freshwater spring.
He let out a choked gasp, before the light went out of his eyes, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.
With a grunt, Callum withdrew his sword and let the man drop to the ground. And then, before he could think twice about it, he ran toward Rhea.
She was all that mattered now.